


totally boggled

by violethoure666



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Kiss, Hogwarts Era, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27290422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violethoure666/pseuds/violethoure666
Summary: “You mean you don’t remember anything from that night... nothing at all?”“Well... there was something.” Ron trails off, then shakes his head. “Nah. It can’t be,” Ron smiles widely. “I was totally boggled, wasn’t I?”“Boggled,” Hermione repeats with a little chuckle.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 12
Kudos: 62





	totally boggled

**Author's Note:**

> Have some halloweentime Romione fluff!

She can’t sleep. It’s well after 2:00am and the sixth year girls dormitory in Gryffindor tower is filled with the soft sounds of steady breathing. All Hermione can think about is Ron. 

She isn’t unused to danger, so she isn’t sure why this particular incident is hitting her so hard. She tries again to make a list in her mind, to pinpoint what it is about this that has her so rattled. 

It might be that almost always, when they do end up in life threatening situations, they know they’re coming. They don’t happen on quiet Tuesday evenings at school, while she’s busy doing Potions homework. 

More than that, she knows the guilt of not speaking to Ron for months is eating her up. If he  _ had _ died, he would have died thinking she couldn’t stand him. He would have died while they weren’t friends, and every stubborn and angry moment would haunt her forever.

She sits up, casting a silencing charm on herself while reminding herself  _ he isn’t dead, she saw him earlier, he’s perfectly safe and sedated in the hospital wing.  _ She doesn’t bother putting on robes, just pulls a sweater on over her pajamas and slides her feet into flats. Then she slips out of the girls dorm, and down the stairs. 

Hermione doesn’t have her own invisibility cloak, but a combination of extreme cleverness and the belief that even if she were caught out of bed, her position as a prefect and as— well, Hermione Granger, might get her off the hook. Still, she uses a disillusionment charm as she slips out of the portrait hole and down the hallway, winding her way down toward the hospital wing. 

She tells herself she isn’t going to stay, she just needs to see him, just for a little bit. She wants to hold his hand, feel the way his broad chest rises and falls beneath her fingers as he breathes in his sleep. 

Hermione thinks about touching Ron a lot. She thinks about touching his hands, which are so much bigger than hers. How his fingers are lightly dusted with freckles, how you have to see his hands catch the sunlight to notice the fine, light hairs. She thinks about his arms, strong from Quidditch and sheer teenage boy hormones, which turn the massive amount of food he eats into lean sinew instead of fat. She thinks about touching his stomach, wonders if his muscles would twitch and jump under her fingers, if he’s ticklish. She thinks about touching his legs, and about how easily she could seat herself on his lap, how sturdy he would be beneath her. 

These are  _ not _ new thoughts. 

The desperation she feels, however,  _ that _ is new. 

She feels as if the pain of the last two months of not speaking to him has compounded into a knot, and settled itself in her belly. She can barely breathe around it, her need to touch him. 

And that’s what’s different, she realizes. It’s not that she wants to touch Ron, she always wants to touch Ron, it’s that she  _ needs _ to touch Ron. 

She has no control over it, like when she stormed out of Divination, like when she punched Malfoy in the face— her body is moving ahead of her mind, and it both scares and thrills her. 

In the darkness, she creeps into the hospital wing. She had a detention two years ago that involved scrubbing down the hospital beds without magic, and she had been there while Madame Pomfrey put up the nightly wards. She removes them easily, tiptoeing by moonlight to the bed where Ron sleeps. 

The weight on her chest lifts when she pulls the curtain back and finally sees him, but the fire inside of her doesn’t dim at all. 

She recasts her silencing charm, letting the hum of the spell wash over Ron as well. For good measure, she places a very light, very simple distraction charm around them as well. If Madame Pomfrey were to walk over here in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t even occur to her to check on Ron. 

It would be one thing to be discovered walking the castle corridors, and quite another thing to be discovered in bed with a boy in the middle of the night, in the middle of the hospital wing. 

The thought makes her heart race, but she is always good under pressure, and she has no reason to doubt herself. So, quietly, she slides into the narrow hospital bed next to Ron. 

He’s on his back, and she barely fits on her side, squeezed beside him, but it doesn’t matter that it isn’t comfortable. She can lay her head on his chest and hear his heart. 

He doesn’t wake up, but he shifts to let her fit better,

moving his arms around her as he sighs, his breath warm against the top of her head. 

She takes his hand in hers and plays with his fingers. She presses her mouth to his knuckles and shivers. His skin is warm. He’s alive. 

He makes a snuffling sound, and she tilts her head up to see his eyes blink open, sleepy and glazed. She holds still, unsure of what to do but incredibly grateful that she thought to expand the silencing charm, in case he screams. 

He doesn’t scream. He smiles. 

“Hi,” he whispers, and Hermione’s body is once again calling the shots. All she can do is follow behind as she leans in and kisses him.

He kisses her too, sleepy and slow. She can feel the way he shivers under her, and it makes her entire body hot. 

When she pulls back to look at him, his eyes are closed. He whispers,  _ this is always my favorite dream, _ and then his head droops off to the side, and he’s sound asleep again. 

Hermione’s heart is a parliament of owls as she untangles their bodies and slowly lifts herself up from the bed. She is buzzing, she is glowing, she has to work very hard to stay focused on slipping back into the corridor, on setting the charms just right and slipping in past the fat lady. 

She’s  _ sure _ that she won’t be able to sleep with how alive she feels, but this turns out not to be true. Once she is back in bed, she falls asleep quickly. 

In the morning, once Ron is out of the hospital wing and having breakfast with them in the great hall, she asks, as casually as she can. 

“You mean you don’t remember anything from that night... nothing at all?”

“Well... there was something.” Ron trails off, then shakes his head. “Nah. It can’t be,” Ron smiles widely. “I was totally boggled, wasn’t I?” 

“Boggled,” Hermione repeats with a little chuckle.

She doesn’t miss the wistful look in eyes when he tries to piece things together, even though it only takes him a moment to drop it, smiling at Hermione and digging back into his food. 

She laughs it off, as casually as she can, and then decides not to mention it. After all, the idea of having  _ two _ first kisses with Ron doesn’t sound so bad. 

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think! I you can come find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/violethoure666)


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